


Purpose

by TextualDeviance



Series: The Raven and the Dove [3]
Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, mild references to rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-12
Updated: 2014-05-12
Packaged: 2018-01-24 12:54:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1605923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TextualDeviance/pseuds/TextualDeviance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ragnar doesn't know why he saved the priest and took him home. Lagertha helps him come to realize at least part of the reason.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Purpose

**Author's Note:**

> Set during 1x03

_"Why did you spare my life?"_

Ragnar had told the priest that he didn't know, which was the truth, both then and now. In the moment he had discovered the hiding spot, he largely had been surprised that the young Christian knew his language, and then that he cared nothing for protecting the treasures in his temple. He knew that the man could be useful for the sake of information, but there was more to it than that. All the useful knowledge the priest had could've been elicited while they were on the journey home, and then he could have—should have, in the opinion of some—simply killed the man and lightened their boat's load. Yet a fire burned within him; a protective instinct he had felt before only for his children or his wife—not that she couldn't protect herself.  He felt compelled to keep this man alive, even in the face of opposition from his fellows, and to take him home in place of a piece of gold or silver thought much more valuable. Such a weak man could be of little use as a work slave; he would merely be another mouth to feed, and one that would likely babble blasphemies to his children about a false god, so why keep him? Ragnar's mind, troubled as it was with many other things, kept returning to that question. 

Some of the men of his war-band had joked that all the priests at the temple must be ergi, else why would they have fallen so easily under the axe and sword? Some had even used a few of the conquered men thus. With no women around to relieve post-battle arousal, it had fallen to a few of the younger priests, with their soft hair and smooth faces, to satisfy those needs before they were subsequently dispatched. Ragnar himself had never before raped neither women nor men—it was not in him to perpetuate such unnecessary tortures—but perhaps his men thought it was for that purpose that he had saved Athelstan and kept him for a personal slave. Perhaps they thought Lagertha wasn't satisfying him well enough, or that 15 years of marriage had dulled his interest in her, yet she wouldn't allow him the pleasures of another woman.

Going by what his wife was doing to him now, the notion that they had tired of each other was far enough out of the realm of reality that he almost laughed.  Yet, even as he reveled in her mouth and scent, and the wet heat of her body, his mind kept drifting. Under the delicious cacophony of her moans and sighs, he could hear the priest nearby, whispering to himself in a strange language as he prayed. The sounds blended in his mind, and the feelings thus inspired confused him.  

Lagertha noticed his distraction. "You keep looking over there. What is it you find so interesting?"

"Nothing." He turned back to her, stroking her face.

"You lie. But I understand. I find him interesting, too." She rolled off of him and propped herself on an arm. "He is strange, but he is also attractive."

Ragnar made a wounded noise. "More attractive than me?"

She punched his hip. "No. Never. It's just that he has such a lovely, gentle voice, and I wonder if perhaps he might . . . make some pretty noises."

Ragnar grinned. He had shared his wife with other men before; she was a passionate woman and difficult to satisfy, though that was one of her many charms. It wasn't a surprise she'd be curious about their young slave. "It's possible," he agreed. "His temple had no women. It might have been a long time since he has had any release."

"Unless he was finding release with the other priests." She winked at him. "In which case, perhaps it is you instead of I who could coax the pretty noises from him. That might be interesting to watch."

Ragnar squirmed, and to his shock, felt his cheeks flush. Lagertha would never accuse him of being ergi, and she was not doing so now. Still, he was unsettled. It was true Athelstan was as comely as a maid, with his innocent eyes and full lips, but he was not a maid. Unless his religion had practiced castration, he would still bear a man's parts at the junction of his thighs, however soft those thighs might be, and that was not a kind of sex Ragnar could have imagined desiring until now.

As with most men he knew, Ragnar had occasionally caressed a friend while they shared a woman, or offered a helpful hand on a long sail, but this wasn't the same thing. Athelstan was not a friend. He was not a war brother. He was not a Northman, cock-proud and sure. He was a slave. A foreigner. A weak man. Appropriate for raping, should such a cruel fancy take him, but not for what Lagertha was suggesting. However much his body was betraying him, Ragnar couldn't reconcile a passion for this lesser creature with his own image of himself. Mostly, though, Ragnar simply didn't want the other men to be right if they had assumed that was the purpose for which he had saved the priest; he didn't like the idea that his intentions could be so easily read by others when he wasn't sure of them himself. There was still something beyond physical desire that compelled his interest and his need to keep Athelstan alive and in his service, but he didn't want that desire to be any part of the reason the priest was not laying at the bottom of the sea. "Don't be foolish," he finally managed to murmur.

Lagertha raised an eyebrow and nudged him. "Foolish? Oh, Ragnar. I saw how you looked at him: like you wanted to devour him in one bite. Don't lie and tell me you wouldn't. After all these years, I know the look of lust upon your face, even if it's not me you're lusting for." She leaned over, her breath hot in his ear. "Be honest, husband: you want to see what's under that roughspun robe as much as I do. You want to see if his belly is taut and pale. You want to see if his nipples are pink and ripe. You want to run your hands down the curve of his back and into the warm places of his body just as you do to me, and hear his voice break with pleasure."

Ragnar threw his head back and growled low in his throat. "Stop!" he hissed. Yet he could not deny her words. Just the idea of undressing the priest and feeling him tremble had made his erection swell to a near-uncomfortable state.

She noticed, and ran a fingertip along the underside, laughing warmly as it twitched. "See? I know you. Your cock would tell me the truth even if your mouth did not." She commenced stroking, using the wetness she had left behind to glide her hand over his skin in a way that made him shudder. "I know you want him, and I want to see you have him."

Ragnar shut his eyes and tried to pretend he was somewhere else, which was difficult to do as she had guided his foreskin back, and was circling her palm across the exposed, sensitive head.

"Well?" she purred. "Shall we ask him? Shall we see if he wants you to touch him the way I'm touching you?"

"Fuck you," he muttered darkly, even as his body tightened.

"No." She gave him a hearty squeeze and sat up, a feral smile across her flushed face. "Fuck _him_."


End file.
